Had you known how I lived,
Would you then understand the meaning
of true despair;

Undressed,
Unkept,
Unloved,
Deprived.

A quick fix, probably.
Roses should have little meaning for you.

Beautiful, even if it is only for a time.
Show affection to it by passing it around
Bought by one lover and given to the next.

Let it wilt,
Let the bright petals fade to grey,
To brown,
To black.

Feel the once soft texture against your fingertips
Turn brittle and delicate.
So brittle, it can barely hold itself together.

Affection for a time
For it held little significance,
Merely a tool for the wrong kind of love.

A rose longs to be preserved.
To have its beauty kept
While it is at its most radiant form,

In between pages of classic literature or poetry,
Or cold glasses made of glycerine.
Adore it in the long time, not just for a while.

I speak of roses
As though they were human.
I speak for I am shattered.